Sides of the Same Coin
by NessieGG
Summary: Heads or tails always leads to the same result for them. [Gambit x Rogue Drabble Collection]
1. From The Sky

_Author's Notes: Though not new to X-Men, writing, or fanfiction, this is my first X-Men "fic" although the whole thing will be a collection of Gambit/Rogue drabbles. All fairly short, all unrelated. OTP!_

_Dedicated to Kristen Elizabeth and Violet Fairygirl, my fellow X-Men fangirls. _

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men and am making no profit off of this fan work. X-Men is the property of Marvel comics and its associates.

**From The Sky**

By Nessie

A boy born and raised in the black parts of New Orleans' heart isn't always one who has a knack for believing in things. Remy finds religion his own way, through doing what he can and what he's good at (usually stealing), and he knows that no matter what's really out there – even if it's nothing – it's not going to get the best of him.

But the Girl. The Girl he isn't so sure about. The Girl has big eyes and trembling lips and a bullshit sob story that he's more than happy to fall for. The Girl takes his money, takes his bed, and then is gone the next morning…when he leaves her. The Girl has gotten the best of him more than once. Damn, Gambit likes that Girl.

But it isn't the Girl that Remy loves. Remy is in love with a woman; an honest-to-goodness, all grown up and ready for him woman whose first name is as much of a mystery to him as just what makes her able to fly. Names don't matter to him though. As long as he can witness the beautiful way she whizzes through the air fast enough to remind him out birds chasing freedom, he's satisfied that she's the woman.

He watches through rings of cigarette smoke as she lands and starts walking toward where he sits on the Xavier's roof in the middle of the sunny day and smiles. Though Rogue has said more than once how much of a devil he is, she's like an angel setting foot on Earth.

And she's religion enough for him.

_The End_


	2. God of Her Mind

**God of Her Mind**

By Nessie

Once, during their usual sessions of training her consciousness, the Professor had described Rogue's mind to her. But he had done so reluctantly, because that was who Charles is: a father to them all, trying to shield them from the sadness but not from the truth of life and all its terrifying possibilities.

"Your consciousness is not an organized place," he had said, his arms resting lightly on the arms of his wheelchair. "It is a web of others' experiences and memories. That is why we do this; so you shall not be overwhelmed the way you used to be. It is hard on you, I know." The Professor had smiled then. "But I am sure that a day will come when you will be able to control those strange forces all on your own, without my help."

Rogue wishes she was as sure as Xavier about that. Tonight, she sits out on the balcony reached through the third-floor library. Well, reached through it by people who walked. She had simply flown to it from her bedroom window minutes earlier, and the French doors leading into the manor were locked for the night.

It is a clear night, and stars shine like a billion pinpricks of light in a blanket of black. Dressed in only a long white T-shirt with her thick hair cascading wavy and soft over her shoulders, she reclines in one of the two deck chairs, a glass of mineral water nipped from the kitchen in hand.

It is September, the time when the days are hot but the nights cool down enough to sit comfortably. Down in Mississippi, Rogue would have had to wait at least another month for suck an event, but New York adheres to her wish for peace.

When he comes to her, he is nothing more than a part of the dark, clad all in black, but he clashes with the white marble of the balcony. That is Gambit. A perfect fit and disturbance to the night…all at once. Maybe that's why she lets grass-green eyes flick to his demonic ones so trustingly. Because he fits. Because he doesn't.

It is the same for the Gambit in her head.

He says nothing as he lowers himself from the roof above to the floor and then sits in the chair beside hers. She, too, has no words for him. And they stay that way, without conversation, as they watch the stars together. If he has never accomplished anything else, it is enough for Rogue that he knows when to let silence reign instead of witty remarks.

He rules her subtly, quietly, and that is the stronger control anyone can have. Her mind may be a mess, but Remy LeBeau is king there. He is the god of her mind.

A short, cool breeze makes her shiver, and he rubs gloved fingers over her bare arm.

Rogue does not mind letting him lead every now and then.

_The End_


	3. Dream Healer

**Dream Healer**

By Nessie

_He's a figure of stone, but smoother. Black marble, perhaps. And he gleams dimly in lightless tunnels. Water from various city drains drips on him and cools his fevered flesh. This is it. This is _it.

_There are others nearby but not within visual, and even though he stands alone with the exception of the lifeless bodies lying gracelessly at his booted feet, he understands that he is being watched._

"_Do this," he had said, that madman had said, "and I will release you from your debt to me, Gambit."_

_He turns red-on-black eyes down to study the corpses. They are heavy weights on rusted steel and frigid stone, and their already-distorted bodies have been mangled further by his attacks. By him. _

_A little girl catches his eyes, and something within him twists. He doesn't remember seeing her. She must have been hiding behind the lanky, ugly woman that she had fallen on top of her and gotten caught in a kinetic blast. Or maybe it was because she didn't look normal, with her oversized hands and caved-in head, that he had just overlooked her._

_He remembers being overlooked. Dozens of potential parents had come through the orphanage, but they had wanted the boy with the curly red hair or the one with the big dimples. Nobody wanted a son whom they would look at and see a devil in his eyes._

_And in his hands, he thinks, drawing out a brand new deck of cards along with a cigarette. Gambit lights up and frowns. The floor is shaking. Everything is shaking._

_He looks up and sees the ceiling beginning to crack. Sinister's other bastards have finally overdone it. He needs to move, but Morlock hands, dead Morlock hands, reach up and grab his legs, holding him in place._

_The tunnel collapses. His cigarette goes black. _

He hauls up in fears, cool sheet falling away his bare chest and his rears into a sitting position. He's at the Institute, he knows right away. The air feels full of New York rural and weirdo kids. There's no city smog around, and there's no faint spicy scent of jambalaya either. He may be safe, but he's not home.

It registers after his safety is confirmed that there is a hand on his cold and sweat-slicked arm.The size immediately tells him it's Rogue, and he jumps only to see that her fingers are gloved. Of course they are, he thinks and inwardly curses himself. He's the stupid one, not her.

Inhaling, he releases a breath that comes out trembling. "_Chere_… _Je suis va aller fou si toi_—"

"Sorry," she cuts into before he can accuse her of making him go crazy. Her green eyes glimmer like cut emerald in the moonlight that filters into his bedroom. "I heard you hollerin' up a storm from upstairs. You were dreamin,' sugah."

"Nightmarin'," he corrects her, sleep making his tongue slow. "Sorry, _petite_." He shot her tired but wry smile. "Looks like dis Cajun a bit too sleepy to take advantage of y'right now." Gambit eyes the hig-rising hem of the T-shirt she wore. "Come back in an hour."

She flicked him on the nose with a gloved finger and sits down. "I ain't goin' nowhere, swamp rat, 'til you tell me what you been _nightmarin' _'bout."

He's so skilled at lying that he doesn't even have to think for a false reply. "N'awlins. Family shit. The same ol' horror story everyone be wantin' t'go away. Really, _chere_," he insists. His still damp hands curl around her covered ones. "Go back to bed and get dat beauty sleep ya don't need."

Rogue gives him a skeptical stare but relents. She stands up but leans close toward him. "I wanna know one day, Remy."

_No you don't, chere. _

She starts to leave and stops. "Sure ya can get to sleep alright?"

He nods, sends her the grin he knows will make her believe him. "Seein' you? Das about all I need for my dream to start gettin' healed."

When he's by himself again, the smile stays along with the terror still visible in the shine on his skin. And he knows it's true.

She's all he really needs.

**The End**


	4. Bronzed

_Author's Notes: So it's been awhile, but here's a little more Gambit/Rogue from yours truly. Some summer nostalgia. _

**Bronzed**

By Nessie

"Ya wanna scoot some of that lemonade over here, sugah?" Not bothering to look over at him, she slips a glove on a sweating hand and reaches out. The side of her mouth quirks up with her palm lands on fingers resting atop a tall glass. "Sorry, Remy. You're about as hot as Ah am right now, and Ah'm needin' somethin' cool."

She feels his eyes smolder against her cheek. "Nobody cooler den me 'round here, _petite_."

Rogue smirks and adjusts her sunglasses, nipping the lemonade out from under his hand in one smooth movement. "Only sometimes, sugah." Her smile widens at his mock pout, then they both settle back to relax…as if they aren't identity-less superheroes…as if they have all the freedom in the world to sit on the roof of the Institute and soak in as much sun as they want.

She sips from the glass and finally allows her eyes to wander from beneath the shield of her sunglasses. Gambit wears nothing but swim trunks and a designer pair of shades, his ponytail sticks to his sweat-dampened shoulder. She appreciates his body, knowing fully well that he appreciates hers just as much.

Her thoughts turn melancholy for a handful of moments as she pulls off the glove again and chucks it underneath her chair. It's almost as hot in New York as it is back home in ol' Mississippi, but she finds that her brain is really the thing on fire.

She wonders, as always, if he sees someone else when he looked at her. Someone he can hold, can touch, can kiss… "Remy?"

"Hm?" He looks over, and his lazy smile falls because even with her eyes covered he can still read her like a book. "Keep t'inkin' those thoughts, _chere_, and I gon' toss you offa dis roof an' into de swimmin' pool."

Rogue grins, effectively distracted – for now. She half-squeals when he starts reaching for his own gloves so he can grab her and jumps out of her seat, knowing he'll get to her in half a second. She barely has time to get her own gloves on before his covered hands are on her bare waist and she's supporting him in a half-falling, half-flying leap to the icy pool below.

There are times, she figures, when she has to just be satisfied with a glass of lemonade, a summer tan, and the never-ending fall down with the man she loves.

**The End**


	5. In The Dark

**Warnings:** Some language, angst.

**In The Dark**

By Nessie

Someone trapped him underground. He bets it was that Avalanche fucker, because all he knows is one second he's tossing kinetically-charged cards as carelessly as if they were Frisbees, and the next he's waking up under piles of boulders. There are only pinpricks of light assuring him it's still daytime and just enough air to breathe. And while he knows he's going to be black and blue in the morning, nothing is broken.

"Remy!"

_I'm here, chere_, he wants to say. _Remy not gon' die so eas'ly. _But there isn't _that _much air and he seriously doubts that his voice can make it through a hundred-something pounds of rock.

"REMY!"

_So c'mon_, he thinks, starting to worry. Normally she'd be there to help him in a flash, but something must be keeping her. Did Quicksilver cut her off? Nah, she'd take him down with that godlike strength of hers, unless she got tangled up Mystique and they're having some kinda untimely mother/daughter bonding time.

"**REMY**!"

And then the rock lifts, boulders roll away, light blinds him and the air nearly chokes him. Blinking rapidly, he waits to see gorgeous green eyes and waves of brown and white he wants to hold in his hand… "Rogue?"

Storm stares down at him sadly, casting off the rest of the rubble with a controlled wind current. "No, Gambit. No…Rogue left us, remember?"

And he suddenly wishes he were still buried.

**The End**


End file.
